By I’m Not Your Parents’ Darwin: Get To Know Me --Part 2 on Sunday, September 30, 2001 - 02:40 am:
Random Imperfect Thoughts on Japheth’s Legacy: Darwin, Pythagoras and the Lost Theology of the West
It might be time to rethink religious eschatology.
Take the Pythagoreans, who bequeathed us western music and mathematics along with their belief in reincarnation.
Take Jesus, who believed that our “spiritual realm” was the stuff of “light”. When it comes to the real nature of “Matter”, perhaps some Darwinians(like Dawkins) have not been nearly “reductionist” enough(quantumly speaking, that is).
Have human minds always been spiritually collaborating with each other in subtle ways that modern scientific instruments are unable to record? Sympathetic resonance might be a key concept here.
Spiritual warfare, spirits and principalities…are these merely early descriptions of neurochemistry gone bad or genuine brain-mind realities? Think of the power of music alone and how it can change human moods(with no need of any modern prescription drug).
The Kingdom of Heaven is spread upon the Earth but we see it not(though what it “reflects” from--the Material World--we do see).
In the modern mass-media age, do our minds co-evolve in concert with what we freely choose to expose them to? Ever notice how much network time lately is devoted to promotional propaganda as opposed to actual creative content? If so, is free-will the most powerful force in reality?
From Wired.com, here’s an interesting scientific find that may reveal something important about the human soul’s real nature:
It's Teleportation -- For Real By Noah Shachtman 1:50 p.m. Sep. 28, 2001
Scientists have made the hard part of teleportation happen -- not on next week's episode of the new Star Trek series, but in a real-life lab in Denmark. But don't expect people or objects to be physically taken apart and recreated as they are on the Enterprise. Instead, it is information about this matter that's being moved from one place to the other.
The idea is that if quantum particles -- electrons, ions, atoms and the like -- have exactly the same properties, then they're essentially the same. So if the properties of the quantum particles making up an object are reproduced in another particle group, there would be a precise duplicate of the original object. Therefore, all that needs to be transmitted is the information about the particles' properties, not the particles themselves. "A teleportation machine would be like a fax machine, except that it would work on three-dimensional objects as well as documents. It would produce an exact copy rather than an approximate facsimile, and it would destroy the original in the process of scanning it," wrote quantum teleportation pioneer Charles Bennett on an IBM Research website. In findings released in the current edition of Nature, Eugene Polzik and his fellow physicists at the University of Aarhus in Denmark showed how they took steps to make this theory more concrete. Using a beam of light, Polzik's team told a 1 trillion-atom puff of caesium gas to take on one property -- the quantum "spin" -- of another. This kind of ultra-precise quantum correlation -- impossible to explain using classical physics -- is known as "entanglement." "The hard part of teleportation is achieving entanglement between system A and system B. That's what they've done here," California Institute of Technology physics professor Jeff Kimble said. "It's a necessary step towards teleportation." Kimble and other scientists have engaged in small-scale entanglement before, but only for a few atoms at a time, and only for very brief periods of time. These quantum states are delicate. And the more atoms involved, the more delicate the states become. Polzik's experiment is important, according to David Harrison, a professor of physics at the University of Toronto, because of its much larger scale and its duration; the Danish physicists kept their gases entangled for half a millisecond, an eternity in quantum time. "That's a huge technological achievement," Harrison said. Perhaps more important, IBM's Bennett said, is the ease with which the quantum information passed from the optical form (the beam of light) to the physical (the gas cloud.) Being able to reliably pass the information has been a major stumbling block in past entanglement exercises. But such safe transfers will be essential not only for far-out technologies like teleportation, but also for super-fast quantum computers -- machines that rely not on the black-and-white, two-dimensional world of ones and zeroes, but the infinitely grayer, multi-layered realm of quantum states.
Rhythmless Nation
The Taliban believes music is wrong. Musicians are paying the price
BY NADYA LABI
"God, everyone in this world has a lover except me," sings a woman. "Why is it so?" Her lament, in Persian, throbs over the speakers of a cab heading for Kabul, Afghanistan. An hour into the six-hour journey from neighboring Pakistan, the taxi driver abruptly switches cassettes, and chants of Koranic verse replace the pop song. Moments later, the car stops at a checkpoint. The wooden poles of the barrier are entwined with strips of confiscated audiotape and film, the loose ends flapping in the wind. A guard peers into the car and inspects the four passengers and driver before allowing them to proceed. "We are lucky," says the driver. "They could have beaten us all if they had found us listening to the music."
The Ministry for the Prevention of Vice and Promotion of Virtue is on patrol. Its job is to eradicate sin, which, as defined by the totalitarian government of Afghanistan, includes simply listening to music. The Taliban, a collection of former theology students who took over Kabul in 1996, is best known for destroying ancient Buddhist statues, restricting the rights of women and allegedly harboring accused terrorist Osama bin Laden. It insists that there is a hadith (a record of the Prophet's sayings) warning people not to listen to music lest molten lead be poured into their ears on Judgment Day. Until then, the Taliban police are wreaking their own violence—against musical instruments and anyone who dares enjoy their use.
Religious songs with no instrumentation are exempted, as well as patriotic chants such as "Taliban, O Taliban, you're creating facilities, you're defeating enemies"—a bit of nationalistic verse that has received heavy play on Radio Shariat, the state-run station. Before the prohibition, sung Persian poems known as ghazals and instrumental Indian melodies called ragas were highly popular in Afghanistan. Concerts featuring such traditional instruments as the rubab (a short-necked lute) used to last for hours at celebratory occasions like weddings and births. Even Western pop made its way to Kabul in the 1970s, when the capital was host to an international rock festival sponsored by a cigarette company.
ABBA will survive the ban, but Afghan musicians fear some forms of music are threatened with extinction. The archives of traditional Afghan folk songs at Kabul Radio, for example, are being destroyed. The sounds of silence, after all, are more reassuring to many governments than voices that have the power to move, to persuade and to protest. In the Sudan, musicians cannot perform after dark; in a Nigerian state where Islamic law is followed, a musician was recently imprisoned for singing. "In much of the Third World, people cannot read or write," says Marie Korpe, executive director of Freemuse, a group in Denmark that monitors music censorship. "People listen to the radio, to songs. It is music that reaches people's hearts and souls." When music is muzzled, an outlet for self-expression is lost.
Zabi Sherki, 21, was jailed for singing with other revelers on his wedding night in Kabul. "We sang very quietly, but the police came inside and beat us," he says. Upon his release two months later, Sherki fled to Peshawar, Pakistan, and joined a band that plays at weddings. Those who cannot escape devise other ways to rebel. Shopkeepers sell cassettes on the black market, musicians bury their instruments for retrieval later, and drivers blare their stereos in remote areas. In a tiny flat in Kabul, with the shutters drawn, Naveeda crouches before a kerosene lamp and whispers the lyrics of a popular love song to her family—softly, so that no one will report her. "We're like dead people," says her brother Nadir. "When the evening comes, there's no electricity, no radio, no TV, no cinema."
Many Afghans refuse to keep quiet. In a cramped studio off a busy thoroughfare in Peshawar, a few musicians sitting on faded red carpets take up instruments while they await customers. On the walls are photos of the band's performances. Zar Wali smiles broadly as he begins to play the harmonium. "My beloved country," he sings in his native Pashto, "this Afghanistan, is very dear to me." The anthem is sweet—sweet enough to make him briefly forget that he is in Pakistan.
REPORTED BY HANNAH BLOCH/PESHAWAR AND GHULAM HASNAIN/KABUL
I'm Not Your Parents' Darwin: Get to Know Me